


all i can do (is say that my arms were made for holding you)

by honeyed_dagger (sarartist)



Category: Banana Fish (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Ash and Eiji take care of a birb, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sing is a very good boy, also flashbacks to the past because I love sibling dynamics, these two dumb boys are in love and just want to protect each other oof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-23 00:18:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17069927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarartist/pseuds/honeyed_dagger
Summary: “I told you how I was a pole vaulter back in Japan, right? When I used to do it, Ash— I felt like, I felt like—”“Like you were flying,” Ash completes, a little breathlessly.Watching Eiji’s figure suspended in the air, poised in a moment of unforeseeable recklessness, Ash thinks that he, too, can taste the drops of freedom on his tongue. He wants to protest, wants to tell him to stop, because this is so, so dangerous, but he can’t, he absolutely can’t— because who is he, a leopard ensnared in a deluge of snow, asking an unfettered bird to pause its flight?orAsh has always found solace in Eiji’s sunlit smile, sought comfort in his honeyed gaze.But, what happens, when Eiji is the one falling apart?





	all i can do (is say that my arms were made for holding you)

**Author's Note:**

> Eiji’s depression is something that I wish was explored more in the manga/anime. I wanted to delve into it a bit, and here we are! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

The maiden rays of dawn stream in through the fringes of the lavender curtains, forcing Ash to blink a couple of times, before his nebulous morning vision gives way to an unclouded view. 

 

He bestirs himself grudgingly, muffling his yawn with a calloused hand. 

 

As he turns over in his bed, his mouth curls into a faint, rose-hued smile, for he espies, concealed underneath a dawny haven of covers, wisps of feathery onyx hair, a reminder of warmth. 

 

This is one of the atypical mornings when his viridescent eyes flutter open before Eiji’s, and this instant, too, Ash doesn’t let go of the gilded opportunity— he stares, and stares, and stares— 

 

“Quit staring.” Gentle hands clutching a velvety blanket are gradually lowered, unveiling a pair of honeyed brown eyes gleaming pearlescent in the sun, and a—  _ wait, is he smirking? _

 

“As if I would,” Ash retorts. “I was just wondering how long I should let you snore like an old man before I kick you out of bed— like you do to me,  _ every single morning.” _

 

“Every single  _ afternoon, _ ” Eiji corrects. “And I do not snore.”

 

Ash only hums in response, watching Eiji stretch while still atop his bed, four feet away from Ash’s own.  _ Four feet.  _ There it is again, the same dull ache: a shard of thorn-sharp glass embedded in his heart; should he make an attempt to extract it, he will have to risk his entire being being ripped apart into smithereens of bruised crimson.  _ Four feet, four feet, four feet:  _ a fragile bridge not once stepped upon, a distance never gapped. 

 

“Do you hear that?” Eiji’s voice coerces him to forsake his thoughts, just for now. 

 

“Hear what?” Ash leaps up forthwith, his mouth rendered parched, his hand reaching out under his pillow to retrieve the gun that glints a daunting raven.  _ How did he ignore it, how, how— he was supposed to protect him, he, he, he— _

 

“Quiet.” Eiji’s tone is subdued, and Ash is frozen to his spot as the other boy approaches the window stealthily, breath caught in his throat, heels never brushing the floor. 

 

And that is when Ash hears it— the flapping of wings, the shrill but mellow string of chirps. 

 

“He is hurt,” Eiji whispers, when Ash walks over to stand next to him. 

 

In his hands, Eiji cradles a wee sparrow— plumes smattered with a dusting of dark wood and twilight skies,  _ and oh, its wing—  _ its wing is—

 

“His wing— it’s broken,” Eiji says, lilt imbued with concern. “Hurry, Ash, get me some gauze!”

 

And there Eiji is again, engaged in the single activity everybody who crosses paths him associates him with: healing. 

 

He cleans the bird’s wound cautiously with a swab of cotton wool, whispering gently as the injured creature winces in pain.  _ Stupid Eiji. Does he think that the bird will understand his words? _

 

But Ash is wrong, because the sparrow has stopped fluttering its unharmed wing with frightful vigour. It is pliant against Eiji’s zephyr-like touch, allowing him to apply a translucent ointment and wind paper-white gauze around the bruised feather and bone with practised ease. 

 

A multitude of memories swarm Ash’s mind: many a fateful evening, he had returned home with a bruised cheek, a crimson gash tracing his elbow, a fresh map of foreboding scars. And every single instant, without fail, he had found himself walking towards Eiji, turning to him like a trampled flower would—if it were capable of it— to the sun. 

 

And always, always, Eiji had taken his wrist in his hand gently, mouth pursed as he had assessed the bruises of scarlet and blue, eyes sometimes glazed with a hint of mist as he had treated them with deft fingers. 

 

Ash hates how, on every single one of those occasions—  _ he hates, he hates it—  _ he had wanted,  _ needed  _ to lean in, rest his forehead against Eiji’s collarbone, and apologise,  _ profusely  _ apologise— until the roof of his mouth ran dry, until his ribcage sang the ballad of an empty abyss. 

 

Truth to be told, Ash is weak; impossibly, inexplicably  _ fragile.  _ Standing before Eiji, glancing at his eyes for a fleeting moment when they look like  _ that,  _ he is riddled with a pang of guilt, and it incapacitates him far more than a legion of bullets ever could.  _ Because nothing, nothing should be able to make Eiji’s eyes look like that: engulf their gleam as they are rendered void of everything but ache.  _

 

“Ash?” Eiji sounds a little distracted. 

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Where should we keep it?” Eiji looks up at him, and though his gaze ostensibly meets Ash’s, it seems distant, as if he is peering at a bygone memory, shards of broken dreams. “We can’t just leave it on the table.”

 

And Ash— Ash revels in Eiji’s choice of words. His heart frolics behind his breastbone, and he dragoons it into calming down.  _ We, we, we.  _ Ash knows this is stupid, he knows he is being starry-eyed, but he wants to etch this into the interiors of his mind for eternity: the song of this syllable cascading down Eiji’s tongue like wild honey.  _ We, we, we—  _

 

“Ash?” Eiji is tilting head to the side, regarding Ash with bemused concern. 

 

“Sorry, I— uh— I zoned out.” 

 

And that is when it hits Ash, in a deluge of reminiscences tinted bright orange and sprightly blue: trees with their verdant crowns kissing the clouds, fishing rods that made his arms ache— a  _ euphoric  _ ache, brooks that hummed many a summer song, and a large but gentle hand clutching his own protectively, benign eyes and a smile that made him feel safe, safe,  _ safe.  _

 

_ And birds. So many birds.  _

 

“Wait,” Ash says. “I will be right back.” 

 

_ “You know what, Griff? You should quit everything and become a —a —” _

 

_ “A veterinarian?” His brother supplies helpfully.  _

 

_ The word is heavy on his tongue, and he makes a mental note to look up the spelling when they get home.  _

 

_ “I was going to say Dr. Dolittle, but yes, this works too.”  _

 

_ Ash watches as his brother uses a knife to dig the earth, searching for worms.  _

 

_ “Simple grains won’t do,” he had told Ash. “Woodpeckers can’t survive on that.”  _

 

_ The bird in question is trapped in Ash’s tiny hands, its fire-bright crown echoing the wounds handed over to it by some larger, more ferocious winged creature.  _

 

_ “Dr. Dolittle, huh? You have been reading.” Griffin smiles, and Ash’s chest swells at the indisputable pride mingled in his brother’s voice.  _

 

_ “Yeah, but Griff, listen— I am ready to read  _ your  _ books now! I am tired of these children’s stories.” Ash wrinkles his nose, and Griffin raises an eyebrow in amusement. “I am _ six _ ,” Ash asserts. It is a big number, and he knows it.  _

 

_ Griffin tips his head back and chuckles . Ash doesn’t know that this is exactly what his laugh will sound like, a decade from now; he doesn’t know how will haunt him, piercing his heart like a thorn, amidst a moment of ecstasy.  _

 

_ “You still have plenty of time to grow up, champ. Don’t be in such a hurry, okay? I am not yet ready to see my baby brother grow taller than me.” _

 

_ “I am not a child!” Ash yells, and Griffin ruffles his hair.  _

 

_ “You so are! And you will be— for a long, long time.”  _

 

Ash makes his way to the spacious kitchen. He scans the neatly-stacked utensils of glass and stainless steel, until his gaze lands upon what he is looking for. 

 

He finds Eiji where he had left him, waiting for him patiently— like he always does. Ash wonders when the day will come when he won’t anymore— when his bones will ache with all that Ash’s life has surfeited them with, when he will finally decide that he can’t do this anymore. 

 

“Keep it in this.” Ash extends his arm toward Eiji, and the hollow of his palm harbours a small plastic bowl, crammed with wads of tissue paper; a makeshift nest. 

 

Eiji’s countenance comes across as marginally surprised. “Tissue? How did you think of that?” 

 

Ash smiles wistfully. “My brother and I used to go hiking together, and often in the woods, we came across injured creatures— birds, mostly— and Griffin always used to take them in, and tended to them until they healed.” 

 

Ash looks away as the air between them grows taut— specks of unspoken memories suspended in it, like motes of dust. 

 

Eiji nods slowly, and then pauses to scrutinise Ash for a moment. “You loved him,” he finally says, gaze tenderly sunlit. “And he loved you too, Ash. Don’t forget that.” 

 

And Ash is stupefied, once  _ again,  _ because Eiji, Eiji— Eiji always knows what to say, even if Ash doesn’t ask, even when he dutifully stows away ever last shred of self-doubt and heartache deep within his being. Eiji always sees through every bejewelled veil of fortitude, and that  _ scares  _ Ash, because what if— what if he sees the things he isn’t meant to see— the monsters baring their fangs, the tumultuous storms that sweep away with them everything that is bright and beautiful? 

 

“Yeah,” Ash whispers, and Eiji casts a knowing glance at him, before gently lowering the sparrow into the diligently-crafted dwelling. The bird shifts a little against the white, soaking in the warmth. Assured of its comfort, Eiji heaves a sigh, before Ash places the bowl on a desk of polished wood. 

 

Ash’s stomach rumbles, and it strikes him that they still haven’t had breakfast. “I’m hungry,” he drawls. 

 

Eiji doesn’t respond, which is peculiar, because he should be  _ teasing  _ Ash about his appetite or something, or hurrying toward the kitchen to prepare a palatable serving of avocado-and-shrimp salad. 

 

“Eiji? Eiji? Earth to?” Ash waves a hand in front of the raven-haired boy’s face, which breaks whatever train of thought he was engrossed in. 

 

“Oh, I am sorry. What did you say?” 

 

“I said— do you want me to make breakfast?” Ash asks hesitantly. He may not be very good at it, but it wouldn’t hurt to try. 

 

“No way.” Eiji snorts. “You are a disaster in the kitchen. And I can’t handle all that mustard.” 

 

_ There he is again.  _ “Says Mr. Baked-Fish-and-Natto.” 

 

Eiji smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

  
  


————

  
  


Chopsticks clatter languidly against porcelain— food left untouched, and Ash eyes Eiji over the edge of the newspaper he is pretending to read. 

 

“What happened,  _ onii-chan _ ? Won’t you ask me for the  _ New York Times?”  _

 

Eiji doesn’t look up from the billows of steam emerging out of his coffee mug in vapour-soft ribbons. “No, you read it.” 

 

“Eiji.” Ash puts down the newspaper, taking in a deep breath. “What’s wrong?”

 

And he hates it— he  _ hates  _ himself for the way Eiji’s gaze shots up in astonishment— which he is quick to mask— because, because—  _ is this really what he is like? Does he really always turn a blind eye to Eiji when he isn’t feeling alright— so much so, that the other boy finds it unusual for him to notice that something is amiss? Is he really, really—  _

 

“It’s the sparrow,” Eiji says, looking away. 

 

Ash furrows his brows. “I thought it was doing fine?”  _ Hah. Trust Eiji to be worried over a— a— a sparrow. It is a little endearing, really, how—  _

 

“ _ He  _ is doing fine, yes,” Eiji says, “But— the entire incident— it reminded me of something.” 

 

Ash is quiescent, but his heart hammers against his ribcage, and he isn’t sure why. 

 

Eiji, he hopes, will take this as his cue to continue.

 

He does. 

 

“I told you how I was a pole vaulter back in Japan, right? When I used to do it, Ash— I felt like, I felt like—”

 

“Like you were flying,” Ash completes, a little breathlessly. 

 

_ Watching Eiji’s figure suspended in the air, poised in a moment of unforeseeable recklessness, Ash thinks that he, too, can taste the drops of freedom on his tongue. He wants to protest, wants to tell him to stop, because this is so, so dangerous, but he can’t, he absolutely can’t— because who is he, a leopard ensnared in a deluge of snow, asking an unfettered bird to pause its flight? He could never—  _

 

“Yes,” Eiji whispers. “How do you know, Ash?” Now, he is smiling— albeit wanly. “But Ash, not every bird can keep flying forever, you know? It gets too tired, or is hurt, injured— you know about that better than me. 

 

“When I was injured, Ash, I lost all hope. I was— depressed. I thought I couldn’t move on. Then, Ibé-san brought me here, to America, for a change of scene; I thought I could forget, I could move on.

 

“And I thought I did, Ash. I tried to— I truly did, but, but—” Eiji’s voice is tremulous now, and his lower lip quivers. “I  _ can’t  _ forget. So much happened, and I, I just can’t— why can’t  _ I  _ be healed, Ash? Why can’t  _ I  _ do it again—  _ fly again?” _

 

Ash is stupefied. “Eiji.” His voice is barely above a whisper. 

 

And that is all it takes for the last pier to fall apart in smithereens of molten despair. Tears spill down Eiji’s cheeks in shards of shattered aspirations. The heartbreak that clings to his lashes bespeaks a long-lost summer love: promises of flight, of cosmic wings, of the stars clutched in his palm, in all their white-hot splendour.

 

Ash pushes his chair back, rising to his feet. He should say something, he should reach his hand out, he should hold this person in his arms— the one who has shielded him from all, he should, he should— 

 

_ He should uproot the stars from the firmament, and the moon— every moon in existence— a multitude of suns— and everything, absolutely everything— and should lay it down before Eiji— because no celestial body in this cosmos can stand a chance against who Eiji is, what he does for Ash, everyday, without asking for anything in return, but, but—  _

 

But Ash knows that he can’t. He is too incompetent; he belongs to dying suns melting into murky oceans, to the dark daubs in forest which are kissed by not a single beacon of light. 

 

His hands render to befouled dust whatever they may graze, because, because  _ look—  _ it is  _ him  _ who has done this to Eiji, who has made things even worse. He has clipped the last of what remained of his wings, has splattered turbid blood onto the pristine white pinions of his. 

 

_ He has made Eiji’s flowers wilt, and he will make his warmth dissipate; he knows this, he does; but why, why does it have to be like this— why does  _ he  _ have to be like this, why, why—  _

 

Eiji is rubbing his eyes with the cuff of his shirt, the faded pink painted a darker hue where his tears have seeped in. Ash’s hand hover by his sides, and he doesn’t move, he doesn’t speak— 

 

“I am sorry,” he hears Eiji say. “I am crying over nothing.”

 

“Eiji,” Ash starts, and the brown-eyed boy’s gaze flies to his with a swiftness that makes his chest ache, as if he is  _ hoping  _ for something, for something—

 

“I— I have to go. I have got something important to— to discuss with Alex. I will call Bones and Kong over, to— uh— keep a watch.” 

 

Eiji doesn’t say anything, and Ash wishes with his entire being for him to scream, to hurl dagger-sharp words at Ash, to ask him  _ why he is like this,  _ why he  _ doesn’t care,  _ to flail his arms with angry tears in his eyes, do something,  _ anything,  _ because that is what Ash deserves, he, he— 

 

“Okay,” Eiji says. A feeble smile. “Stay safe.” 

 

And Ash— Ash wrenches the door open and  _ flees.  _

 

_ I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—  _

 

He runs. 

  
  


——

 

Ash walks across the promenade aimlessly, eyeing the asphalt, wishing that it would crack open, and devour him raw.  _ Why is he like this, why, why—  _

 

Something hits him on his left shoulder, jolting him out of his rumination. A half-eaten apple rolls down the pavement, and Ash’s hand flies to the gun tucked underneath his waistband.

 

“Who—”

 

“You really let your guard down there.”  _ Sing.  _ The shorter, lithe boy walks up to him— hands tucked in his pockets, a smirk painted over his face. “Ash Lynx, not sensing another soul from ten miles away? Who would have thought?”

 

Ash’s dark gaze doesn’t meet the other boy’s. “Leave me alone,” he says brusquely.

 

“Hey.” Sing’s voice is mellower now, tinged with a hint of concern. “Are you alright?”

 

“How does it matter—”

 

“It’s about Eiji, isn’t it?” 

 

Ash looks up at Sing, and espies no trace of bitterness in the dark-eyed boy’s features. “How would you know?” he asks defensively.

 

Sing chuckles. “Only that boy can make you like this— so unaware of your surroundings. I swear, it is gonna cost you your life someday.”

 

“I don’t care.” Ash is fuming now. “I don’t want a life without— without him.”

 

He waits for Sing to snicker, to sneer at him.  _ Because he is supposed to be lone wolf, a lynx, bothered about nobody else’s life but his own, thriving isolated, breathing clandestine secrets, sleeping alone in cavelets nobody knows of.  _

 

“So it  _ is  _ about Eiji, isn’t it?” Sing’s voice doesn’t sound scathing; it is as if, as if— as if he is  _ reprimanding  _ Ash. “What did you do this time?”

 

“What do you mean, I didn’t—”

 

“Ash.” Sing’s voice is stern, his small frame fortified by stout determination. “Eiji is a nice guy. And he has taken care of me, and my boys before. Do you think that you are the only one who worries about him? He is— he is my friend as well. Now, speak.”

  
  


——

 

Sing rests his palms atop the bench they are seated upon, watching the clouds rolling by as Ash talks. 

 

“And then, I— I left. And here I am, yeah—”

 

Sing’s head swivels at the speed of lightning, gaze colliding with Ash’s in sudden incredulity. “You are telling me— that he told you something so important to him— and you just— you just  _ left _ him? All alone?”

 

“He will be safe,” Ash says hastily, “I asked Bones and—”

 

“That’s not what I mean, dumbass!” Sing is infuriated, exasperation painted over his countenance. “You should have stayed by his side! He needed you, and you left. What sort of a— a friend are you, Ash?”

 

“I would have made things worse!” Ash bellows. “That’s what I always do, I— I never know what to say. And I felt so guilty, because it’s all my fault— it is because of  _ me  _ that he is hurting.” Ash cradles his head in his hand, shoulders shaking convulsively. 

 

A small hand touches his arm. “It’s not your fault.” Ash looks up at Sing, as he continues, “Eiji is his own person, and he  _ chose  _ to be here with you. Don’t take that away from him, Ash. He did it because, because— he cares about you. And—” The dark haired boy takes in a deep breath. “— and the least you can do is be by his side.”

 

Ash is silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “But I am— no good with words. I don’t know how to comfort people. I am not— I am not Eiji.”

 

“No,” Sing says, “you are not. But every Eiji breaks sometimes too, don’t you think?” He pauses to draw in a breath. “My cousin— she was so cheerful. She used to smile all the time, and cracked jokes to lighten every situation. That is why we were all so surprised when we— when we lost her. She was depressed, and it became worse, but we— we never knew.”

 

Ash is staring at Sing, at the small boy, who should be fussing over his algebra homework, or skipping school to watch a football match with his friends. But instead, he carries so much on his shoulders, a burden akin to boulders in its weight.  _ Just like himself,  _ it strikes Ash.  _ He, too, was fourteen, a little more than four summers ago.  _

 

Two boys, robbed of their childhood, of classrooms reverberating with vivacious laughter, of injuries that come as knees scraped from falling off bicycles, and not bullet wounds; two boys— who were tender-hearted, in spite of it. 

 

“Just let him know that you are there for him. Sometimes, your presence is all that matters.”

 

Ash nods. He rises, dusting his jeans. 

 

“Wait, don’t go so fast.”

 

“What is it?” Ash questions. 

 

“You know you need to  _ apologise,  _ right?”

 

“Oh— yeah, of course.”

 

Sing drums his chin thoughtfully, looking around, as though searching for something, until his gaze lands upon a corner.

 

“Come with me!” He grabs Ash’s arm, dragging him along. 

 

The sweet, cloying odour of many-hued blooms floods Ash’s nostrils, as they enter a small shop. 

 

“Excuse me,” Sing says, to the lady behind the counter, “we are looking for some flowers.”

 

——

  
  


“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Ash points at the posy of roses dyed a crimson sunset, accompanied by a sprinkling of carnations and lilies, around which the lady wraps pellucid cellophane paper with nimble fingers.  _ Unconditional love. Humility. Devotion.  _

 

Sing crosses his arms. “You got a better idea? Besides,” he says, mouth curled into a toothy grin, “Japanese love flowers.”

 

Ash’s brows are knit together. “Are you sure?” 

 

“Of course. At least, that’s what I read in a manga.” 

 

Ash’s eyes widen. “You—”

 

“Buying this for your girlfriend?” the lady asks, fastening a ribbon at the edge of the bouquet. “Did the two of you get into a fight?” 

 

Ash purses his lips. “It’s not—”

 

“Oh, so your boyfriend then?”

 

A rose-tinted hue blooms over Ash’s cheeks. “Just—”

 

“Actually—” Sing shoves him with a hand, propping his elbows against the counter. “— it’s complicated. These two are still figuring it out.” 

 

The lady nods in cognisance. “Ah, I see.” 

 

Hardly do they set foot on the concrete pavement running outside the shop, when Ash punches Sing in the shoulder. “What crap do you think you were blabbering in there, you gremlin?”

 

“Ow!” Sing rubs his shoulder. “I was just trying to help!”

 

Ash halts for a moment, eyes downcast. “I know.” Then, he looks up, and there is a subdued smile on his face. “Thank you.” 

 

“Ew! Don’t get all sappy now. Just— just go, okay?” Sing pushes his back with utmost impetus, propelling him into motion again. This time, he breaks into a peal of effervescent laughter, and it doesn’t seem all that forced. 

 

——

 

Ash disconnects a call, pushing the phone inside his pocket, entering the apartment.

 

“Boss.” Bones arises, a wave of relief washing over his fatigued eyes. “You are here.” 

 

The bouquet clutched in his hand seems a little too weighty. “Yes. Where is Eiji?” 

 

“He is— he has been locked inside the bathroom for a while now. A  _ long  _ while. Something like an hour—” 

 

“Why?” Ash’s heart pummels against his breastbone, assemblage of blooms dropping to the floor. “Didn’t you try to get him out?” 

 

“Kong has been trying, but—”

 

“The two of you can leave.” Ash feigns calmness. “I will handle this.” 

 

“Eiji!” Ash welts the door with his fists, voice laced with disquietude. “What are you doing in there?”

 

He hears the sound of water running, before it ceases. The door clicks open, and a pair of scarlet-rimmed eyes catch sight of Ash. “You are back. Did it go well? Are you hu—” 

 

“Eiji, please, just quit this already!” Ash is frustrated, exasperated, absolutely  _ infuriated,  _ because he does not— he irrefutably does  _ not  _ deserve these tender words, this solicitude— this kindness that Eiji extends to him— even when the latter is clinging onto the edge of a cliff, on the brink of falling apart. 

 

But oh,  _ but oh—  _ what has he done now? When does he ever think of anybody but himself? Because Eiji— Eiji stands before him, shoulders trembling, knuckles rendered white, ascribed to the hands he is fisting too hard. 

 

“What do you want, then, Ash?” Eiji’s eyes are widened in a fit of rage as he grabs Ash by the collar, tugging at it brusquely. “Tell me, what is that you want— say, why aren’t you speaking? Tell me—”

 

And just like that— it strikes Ash— if there is  _ anything  _ left of Eiji, he has blighted it, once again. 

 

A sob rips out of Eiji’s throat, as he clutches fistfuls of the pale grey of Ash’s shirt, gaze never colliding with that of the other boy’s.

 

“I’m—” Eiji starts— voice timorous, stained with shades of red-hot agony, aeons of unspoken ache. 

 

_ But no, Ash won’t let him say it this time. He won’t, he  _ can’t—  _ because this boy— clinging to him like the last of autumn leaves do to a banal twig— belongs to constellations sprawled across infinite universes, to dewdrops that kiss benevolent blooms, to endless azure skies. So, he won’t let this happen, he won’t— _

 

“Eiji, don’t,” Ash murmurs. Slowly, and with fastidious care, he brings his arms around Eiji, enclasping him in a contrite embrace. “It is me.  _ I  _ am sorry.”

 

Silence falls, and all that can be discerned is the blue euphony of fusing heartbeats, quivering breaths. 

 

Ash inhales deeply. “I shouldn’t have left you,” he whispers. “I am sorry, I— I got scared.”  _ Scared of breaking you, of watching you shatter to smithereens of crushed promises, at the slightest of my touch.  _

 

“But—” Ash grasps Eiji by the shoulders, gently pushing him away, eyes blazing an incandescent jade. “—I don’t want to be scared anymore. I thought you scared me, Eiji, I— I was scared of— I  _ am  _ scared of losing you. But— but  _ you—  _ you fortify me, Eiji. When you are by my side, I am not scared of the world, a little less scared of  _ myself—”  _

 

Ash pauses, fumbling for words. “Ugh, I am making this all about myself again, am I not?” 

 

But,  _ see,  _ Eiji—  _ Eiji  _ is looking at him like, like— 

 

Ash’s voice trembles. “I don’t deserve you! But, but—” 

 

“Shh.” Eiji leans his forehead against Ash’s collarbone, eyes fluttered shut, arms wrung around his shoulders. “Let yourself have this. Let  _ me  _ have this.” 

 

And just like that, Ash is atop a fleet gossamer clouds, unfettered, unchained. He fears nothing, nothing,  _ nothing— _

 

“You don’t have to do this alone anymore, Eiji.” The other boy looks up, tear-stained visage bespeaking nights of muffled cries, a bruised heart mended hastily when no one was looking. “I know what you are going through— and if I don’t, I  _ want  _ you to tell me. I want to be there by your side, too.” _ Forever—  _ he doesn’t say this, but these three syllables are mapped onto their skin, the tender warmth that cloaks their souls when their fingers intertwine clumsily.

 

Eiji opens his mouth to say something, but all that tumbles out of his throat is dry air. 

 

“You are always healing others, Eiji, and that is why everyone gravitates to you, but— but you cannot pour from an empty cup, you know? So promise me—” Ash says, clasping one of Eiji’s hands, pressing it against his heart, “you won’t refuse when I ask you to get help for this. Jessica has a friend— a doctor— who can help.” 

 

Eiji nods. “Okay,” he whispers, and then— and then,  _ they are holding each other again, and it is as if a sliver of the sun casts light upon them, enrobing them in a veil of warm, gilded solace. It is like wishing upon a star that bolts across the sky, leaving a trail of molten silver in its wake, but realising— realising that every constellation in the universe resides in the ribcage, in the eyes of the boy nestled in your arms. And you can’t believe how lucky you are, because, because— because it is the happiest feeling in the world.  _

 

“Oh.” Eiji lets go of Ash, rising to his feet. Ash’s verdant gaze follow Eiji as he ambles across to the other end of the room. “Come here, Ash.” 

 

And in the haven that is Eiji’s hand, the sparrow stirs softly, shivering slightly. Eiji unwraps the gauze cautiously, and it drops upon his palm, stained a dull red. “He is fully healed?” Ash asks incredulously, “How?” 

 

Eiji shakes his head. “He isn’t. Not yet.” 

 

He walks over to the window, Ash following pursuit. The bird blinks rapidly as a beam of the sun kisses its plumage, bathing it in a honeyed serenity. He shakes his feathers experimentally, still not prepared to defy the vast empyrean. Ash reaches out his hand, running a single finger over the wood-tinted plumes, a zephyr-soft touch. “Somebody is scared, huh?” He chuckles, leaning closer, voice bearing the lilt of a spring breeze. “Don’t be scared, buddy. The sky isn’t, it isn’t—”

 

“—it isn’t something to fear,” Eiji whispers, and his gaze is fixed upon Ash. “And it isn’t something to conquer, either.” He turns, facing the window, agate eyes gleaming under the afternoon sun. “Because flying isn’t about entrapping the sun in your hands, or kissing the bright stars. It is— it is about gliding, in sync with the wind, and feeling the freedom which floods your veins. And sometimes, sometimes—” 

 

Eiji’s eyes meet Ash’s, and his smile is like a resplendent shaft of starlight. “—sometimes, it is about stopping along the way, mid-flight, and finding a— a  _ home.  _ And no matter how many times you jump off cliffs again, dancing in the sky, taking flight, you know— you  _ know—  _ that it will always be there for you when you come back.” 

 

Perhaps, it is a miracle, because— because— the sparrow cranes his neck, eyeing the azure stretching before him, and when Eiji sets him gently, upon the windowsill, it flutters its wings slowly— once, twice, thrice— and then, and then— it flies. 

 

Ash is still gazing in awe, when he hears the sound of a click next to him, a blinding flash. 

 

Eiji is clasping his camera in his hands, eyes trained on the small figure diminishing slowly, against the halo of the sun. “I think I will call it—  _ A Flight Back Home _ ,” he says, grinning sheepishly, putting away his camera. “You like it?” 

 

Ash nods. His shoulder brushes Eiji’s, and a smaller hand reaches forward, to gently clasp his own. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> taking care of injured birds was actually something I used to do as a child. one of the sparrows still comes to visit with her family! 
> 
> thank you so much for reading ily baybey 
> 
> please let me know about your thoughts in a comment below <3 
> 
> come yell at me on tumblr @qulfeeh or @caritatem-aeternam :D


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